


freedom (is just another word for nothing left to lose)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort Food, Daisy Johnson is such a stan, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Daisy/Lincoln, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson Feels, Post season 3a, Speculation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, apparently all skoulson fics must feature Coulson growing a beard from now on, mentions of Coulson/Rosalind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5381516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody keeps waiting for Coulson to go back to who he used to be. Daisy can't explain them why she doesn't want him to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	freedom (is just another word for nothing left to lose)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



 

She feels a bit arrogant to be thinking like this but: lately, some days Daisy almost believes she's the only one who gets Coulson, why he's changed so much.

Most people around her (and Daisy is glad for it) don't know what it actually feels like, to know someone is dead because of them. That a life was lost just because you exist. It goes beyond guilt and responsibility. It goes beyond grief. It's existential. The way Daisy feels about Eric Koenig, the way she feels about Trip, the way she feels about Jiaying. All the people she has watched die and the people she knew would be alive if she had never been born. It gives you a case of cosmic vertigo, in the worst possible sense.

"Yeah, I get that," Mack had said when Daisy tried to explain, and he told her about Tim's death, and from that day on he didn't really questioned Coulson's change. He didn't like it, but he let the guy be.

It’s not just that, of course, the problem with Coulson. It’s not just the first person he got killed. It’s everything after. For those who knew him before he changed the distance is insurmountable. For those who didn’t really know him from before, like Joey, Coulson is absolutely incomprehensible as he is now.

Daisy feels like she doesn’t belong in either camp.

People still look at her like they expect her to fix it, to _fix him_ , but they seem to be giving up on that as well, slowly.

Some people thought he would never come back. But when he did, two weeks after the portal closed and Grant Ward got taken out at the greatest possible cost, Daisy wasn't that surprised. She figured Coulson didn't really have anywhere else to go. He didn't even want the Directorship back – he just wanted to be able to keep his old office.

 

+

 

She doesn't take her own viewing of things too seriously until Mack asks her to send Coulson on a mission.

"Why don't you tell him yourself? You're the Director."

"You're the _Coulson-whisperer_ in the team," Mack argues, and Daisy has to do a double take at the wording. "He's not going to like it."

Daisy looks at the file. He really is not going to like it.

It's a simple, intel-gathering mission, but it's a three-men mission and Mack has placed two rookies on the roster with Coulson. He's more into flying solo these days, uncomfortable in big team outings, to the point where he prefers to stay behind, even. He works hard –he works at all hours and he has this resolved look whenever he takes on a new mission– but he works mostly small jobs with little risk attached. May had joked with him that he was keeping himself as a Level 4 agent these days. But that's another thing Coulson doesn't do these days, on top of teamwork. Jokes.

She's right, he doesn't like it. His jaw clenches visibly and Daisy knows what he's thinking, about the new recruits going out with him, about whether he's going to get them killed. He is seeing the face of another young agent in there.

He slides his thumb along the side of the tablet for a moment, thinking, before he accepts. “Okay,” he says, quietly. Daisy waits until he lifts his eyes from the file to give him a little encouraging nod. She remembers Mack saying something about her “patience”. It’s not it. She’s not waiting for anything to turn. There’s nothing to be impatient about.

The mission goes without a hitch – Daisy stayed back in the base on comms, in case there was a problem, as if she were Coulson’s SO and wanted to check he did okay on his own, it’s a strange feeling – and the new agents don't look too traumatized by having to deal with the moody ex-Director.

But afterwards Daisy sees Coulson in his office, pouring himself a glass full of scotch and loosening his tie with a weary sigh. The door ajar, she's about to knock, but for some reason decides against it.

 

+

 

She starts having her lunch in his office, without meaning to. It kind of naturally happens.

Hard to believe but it's not for his benefit or anything. She is not trying to get him back to civilization. It's purely selfish. People wouldn’t believe it, say it’s a tactic, say she’s trying - she’s not trying anything.

As a leader of a very high-risk and very intense group of people, her life has become too full and too noise sometimes.

"Do you mind if I have my lunch in here?" she asks, dangling her sad sandwich from the door. Coulson looks like he's about to say no so she explains herself. "It's my team. They're great but sometimes I need a break. Some silence. This is the quietest corner in the base."

Anywhere else someone was bound to find her. She is using Coulson to hide. _He_ is the quietest corner of the base, and maybe no one else sees the value in that, but Daisy does.

He nods and gestures for her to come in.

"I promise I don't want to bother you," she adds. "I won't talk. I know how much you value your you-time."

"I do," he says, sharply, nothing new. Then: "But this is okay."

Daisy keeps her promise of being quiet, so much she thinks Coulson forgets she's here for a moment, because when he looks up from his file – the guy doesn't even stop working as he eats – he seems surprised to see her. It lasts a moment and then he goes back to his salad. He eats salads now. The whole mood in his office has changed. No more collectables. No music of course. Never again.

When she's finished – and suspects her team can no longer stand a moment longer without knowing where she is – she cleans up and politely thanks Coulson for letting her stay. His expression is soft when he does, like he’s about to tell her he doesn’t need the thanks. People would say she’s crazy but she thinks he’s more expressive these days. Every tiny movement of the muscles of his face seems so loud. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t shave anymore - not regularly, anyway, not properly, like he sometimes forgets - but Daisy feels like he doesn’t know how to hide the things he’s thinking and feeling anymore. Maybe that’s why he stays so apart from everybody. Daisy needs to be careful about this.

It happens again the next week, after a mission goes south and Joey gets hurt. Nothing serious, a couple of bruises and a sprained ankle and a day's rest and Joey being a really bad patient, but it was Daisy's fault somehow, she was his partner, she should have been quicker protecting him. She doesn't want to see anyone and she doesn't want anyone (specially Lincoln, or worse, Mack) to tell her it's not her fault. So she slips away and into Coulson's office for the afternoon, grabbing a couple of coffees she offers to him as bribe for letting her hide with him again. He accepts and Daisy spends the rest of the day with him, working away at her laptop. Coulson knows what's happened. The old Coulson would have probably asked if she was okay. It's a relief that this, today, is not the old Coulson. Daisy thinks this new Coulson and her are kindred spirits, in a weird way. Of course she doesn't want to become a ghost in the base like him, but she shares the desire to wander through it, invisible.

After that it becomes a sort of a habit. Not everyday, but often enough. Coulson doesn’t look like he’s about to turn her down again. Daisy would just leave him alone, if she ever saw that in his face.

 

+

 

She does wonder where he goes when he’s not here, though, from time to time. A lot of the time when he’s not on god-knows what kind of personal mission he’s not even on base. Many nights he sleeps in one of SHIELD’s safehouses in town. He slips in and out of the Playground like a shadow, probably taking advantage of the fact that nobody is going to question the former Director on his schedules. Daisy wonders if it has to do with the absences he must feel more than anyone. If he doesn’t like sleeping here because it’s like being haunted. The rest of the team might not understand everything, but they all get why he stays away from the lab.

 

+

 

Again she’s not trying to bringing back from anywhere - though that’s probably what May and Mack are thinking, when she talks about how she wants this op. There’s nowhere to bring him back from, _he’s here_. Daisy wishes everyone would just - see him.

She’s not trying to prove anything, she just needs a partner for a couple of days.

“You want in on this?” she asks, giving him the specs.”I know you’ve been doing the groundwork for weeks.”

He glares at her a bit, like he’s scared she might just be trying some trick on him.

“It might be a bit boring,” she warns him. “Mostly waiting around in the tactical van for a couple of days while I work my magic. But I do need backup.”

Coulson looks at the specs once again. She wants to tell him she’s not doing him any favor here. She really can’t think of someone she’d rather have on this mission with her.

“Okay, I’m in,” he says.

 

+

 

“The exploit will take a couple of hours to worm its way,” she explains. “Once in place we’ll have to come back tomorrow when they actually change the security pro- Am I boring you?”

Coulson shakes his head, leaning back against the wall of the tactical van. It’s not much room in here and Daisy hopes he’s not getting uncomfortable about this. “No, but… what time do we need to go in tomorrow?”

“Well, that’s the thing, we don’t know. That’s why we have to stay on the lookout.”

But for all his reputation as the impatient one Coulson bears it all wonderfully, the waiting, the watching Daisy type away at her laptop, and her presence. And he’s so quiet that for a moment Daisy forgets he’s there at all, and when she looks up she’s surprised and delighted that she’s not alone.

Everybody has been expecting Daisy to talk to him for _months_ , but it’s only when she’s ready that she does, and only when she thinks Coulson would want her to ask. She’s being arrogant, now she knows, but she thinks she can sense these things when it comes to him.

“Why don’t you come on team missions anymore? Is it because of Rosalind or…?”

Fitz’s name hanging between them like a do not cross warning sign.

Coulson nods, doesn’t bother denying it, doesn’t bother with a non-answer.

“I find it hard to believe anyone wanting me on the field with them,” he adds quietly. Daisy wonders how long it’s been since anyone asked. To be fair, his whole demeanor doesn’t encourage people to. But it occurs to her that maybe it’s not that Coulson doesn’t want to do this. He’s scared of getting people hurt and scared his team thinks he will get people hurt.

“Apparently I like to live dangerously,” Daisy says, trying to lift the mood.

“Yeah, you do,” he replies, his mouth twisted with the kind of humor she knows it’s still in there.

 

+

 

They come in later than she expected on the first day, the prep having taken longer than she thought. She’s tired from sitting on that tiny van all day, she needs to go to sleep but she also needs to stretch her legs a bit. Coulson goes straight to his office and she knows why and she follows him because God, she feels like having a drink tonight and Coulson is already taking the good stuff out from his drawer.

“Can I get one? To go, if you like.”

He pours her a glass. Neither of them sit down, drinking their scotch standing. They have done too much sitting for a day.

“Where did you go during those two weeks you disappeared?” she asks. Something she’s been curious about, more than anything.

He doesn’t seem bothered that she asks and it occurs to Daisy that maybe she’s the first one to ask. That everybody else assumed Coulson wouldn’t want to talk about it so no one ever asked him to. Maybe he’s been waiting for someone to do this, all this time.

“I went to the beach,” he replies, straightforward enough. 

“Was it nice?”

“It was but…” he hesitates, putting his glass down. “I tried to imagine myself as a regular person, outside… outside all this, I guess. I couldn’t. What I was running away from wasn’t outside.”

“So you came back,” she says.

“So I came back,” he says, sounding like he did everything but.

 

+

 

Daisy watches him struggle with getting into a crossed-legged position on the floor of the van, amused. The plan being that as soon as they gain access to the building they’ll slip in and out; Daisy extracting the intel they need, Coulson backing her up in case the guards find them. Simple enough, if it wasn’t for all this waiting.

She can do vans, easily. Coulson? Not so much. He gives up and just goes back to resting his back against the boxes of equipment, stretching his body as much as he can. Daisy copies his gesture, until they are leaning back side by side.

It’s mostly silence between them, but that’s not bad at all. Daisy feels a weird peace around Coulson these days.

"I read your file,” she speaks up, eventually. “Back when we were tracking down the Clairvoyant. I didn't mean to pry but I read what happened to your father. How he was shot in front of you."

He doesn’t look at her. He looks straight ahead and she knows he’s remembering. She’s not sure he’s remembering his father, though.

"He wasn't shot. He got a bullet that wasn't meant for him,” he explains. “A man was trying to shoot his wife from across the street. He shot twice. Got the woman only once. Second shot went through the window, through the street and right across my father's throat."

Daisy hugs her knees, thinking about the nine year old Coulson once was. The nine year old he still is in a way. Stuck. Unable to shake some things. "And you were with him."

"I watched him bleed out in _seconds_ ," he says.

Daisy is not sure the old Coulson would have been this forthcoming, his emotions so on the surface. He's not looking at her, obviously, but his words do not shy away from her. She feels bad for liking it, the way he talks to her sometimes now.

 

+

 

“We’re on,” she says.

He notices the slight grimace on her face. “What?”

“If we get caught things might get messy.”

She’s not worried about their safety, she knows they are enough to handle anything. She worries about putting him at risk without Coulson’s permission, when he’s so wary of risk these days.

 

+

 

It doesn’t go exactly south, but Coulson ends up with an ugly cut in his arm. Neither him nor Daisy want to deal with calling back up so they clean up between themselves. Maybe there’s something cathartic in the way things get messy and they survive. Maybe Coulson needs to go through this. Not that she’s glad he got hurt or anything, but it’s not the end of the world. It actually never is.

"You know how to do this?" he asks. It's said in the same impatient tone of these days, at first, then it softens by the last word, like Coulson is forcing himself not to snap. He's the one in pain, and Daisy knows how much effort it takes him, so she appreciates it.

"Don't worry. I learned a lot of first aid from Trip. You're in good hands."

"I didn't mean– thank you."

He’s thanking her for more than just this, she guesses. She also guesses he’d rather not have to do this back at the base, in the lab. She knows he misses Simmons. Daisy knows all about being haunted by people who are still alive. Maybe it’s not arrogance, feeling like only she gets him these days. Maybe it’s just how similar they are.

She takes off his shirt first, quickly, before the blood dries and the cloth sticks to the skin. Her eyes dart over the scar she had never seen before for a moment. Scars. The matching one on his back somewhat more of a surprise. She works on him quickly, with confident hands, watching him wince when she cleans the wound, feeling a rush of protectiveness when she thinks about his frailty.

“Finished?”

“I think,” she says, feeling like there’s still something missing.

She presses her mouth against the curve of his shoulder, then a second kiss lower, on his upper arm, right above the wound. His skin feels hot under her lips. He goes so quiet, so intensely quiet that Daisy can feel his racing heartbeat as if it were blood in her ears.

Coulson freezes for a moment and when Daisy looks up his glance is just as unreadable as it's been ever since he came back to SHIELD. When she’s about to pull back Coulson leans over, kissing her tentatively. She performs a complicated turn, craning her head until she can be face to face to give him better access. He starts kissing her properly, messily, his scruff scratching against her face.

Their knees bump when she tries to crawl between his legs and Coulson utters a breathy, almost wordless apology that makes her smile, the way he touching her hips like he’s afraid she’s going to fall. The way he obviously wants to touch her much more. 

She brings his hand to her mouth and kisses the gloved palm, feeling the solidity of the prosthetic underneath.

“Daisy,” he says, lifting his other hand to her breast carefully.

She’s glad they’re not in mission clothes, and she just has to undo the buttons of her jeans. Coulson grabs her thigh, caressing the inside a bit clumsily, nervous. He really has no filter these days, and Daisy thanks god for that, she doesn’t want some detached version of this, she doesn’t want sex with a SHIELD guy, and Coulson doesn’t really seem like a SHIELD guy at all lately.

She works her hand into his pants and wraps her fingers around his cock, stroking him slow and hard until his eyes are blown and he swallows, trying to trap the needy noises at the back of his throat in. And failing. She darts her thumb over the tip and Coulson twists both his hands into her hair, pulling her down for a kiss. This is not the Coulson anyone outside her has ever met, she doesn’t think so.

“Come on,” she mutters, impatient - she’s finally impatient with him, after all these months - sitting between his legs for a moment as she kicks her pants and underwear out of the way.

Coulson gives her a questioning look before touching her again.

“Don’t stop,” she reassures him, getting the idea. “We don’t need to stop.”

He finally gets the crossed-legged thing right, she realizes, out of necessity, and he holds her by the waist as she lowers herself over him slowly. He groans, closing his mouth over Daisy’s chest. He pushes his whole length in with some difficulty, even though Daisy is so wet, the angle not quite right for this, no room to move in this stupid van. She hasn’t been with anyone with Lincoln, and that was while ago, so this is both new and overwhelming.

He doesn't talk through any of it and Daisy didn't expect otherwise. She doesn’t mistake quietness for lack of passion, though.

 

+

 

“You okay?” she asks him afterwards, helping him pull his shirt on over his injured shoulder.

He nods.

“I’m hungry, though,” he tells her. “Do you want to eat something?”

Another thing Daisy has noticed about this new, somber Coulson: he asks things. He doesn’t talk often but he asks, carefully, quietly, he asks for permission or acquiescence, he asks about even the most obvious things, like he can’t trust his own gut on them and needs confirmation.

 

+

 

After an easily companionable dinner they find a little ice cream joint on the route back, somewhere that opens until late. Even though it’s not a particularly hot summer night they sit outside, on the little patio at the back of the store.

They attack their two-scoop cones with gusto. After all these weeks of watching him miserably going through his sad salads it’s quite the pleasure to see him obviously enjoying every bite of this, even licking his lips clean in such an unselfconscious fashion that it makes Daisy smile. Not even when he was having sex with her did she see such a relaxed expression.

“What did you get?” she asks.

“Chocolate and strawberry.”

“Classic Phil,” she comments.

"What's yours?" he asks in return, but only after a beat. He seems all out of synch these days, coming up with words a moment too late. People think it makes him seem aloof - Daisy thinks he just looks more isolated for it. Is this the reason he doesn’t join group conversations as often? He doesn’t seem as quick as he once was, back when he was screwball comedy fast and sharp. But Daisy doesn’t mind waiting for him to speak.

"Chocolate."

"And?"

" _Chocolate_ "

A ghost of a smile passes through his glance.

They are the only two customers.

Once again being with Coulson feels like the quietest thing she’s ever done.

“Nice night,” she comments, watching his expression closely.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s - the weather. It’s nice.”

He seems to be making a great effort here. 

“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” he says.

“About what?”

"My father died because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there's an explanation for that. He wasn't supposed to be there, in that street, the day he died," Coulson starts telling her. "We were walking home like every Thursday after he had football practice and I wanted to buy some – funny, I'm not sure what it was right now, one of my toys, I was into plane models at the time, it might have been it. I was supposed to wait until the weekend to buy it but I couldn't wait. I did what kids do, and my father ended up walking with me to the toy store. Or was it a model shop? I don't know. Point is, we weren't supposed to be in that part of the town that day. I insisted. I was the reason my father was there. The reason he took that stray bullet."

Daisy stares at him for a moment and when he keeps silent she leans over the table and covers his gloved hand with hers. Coulson says nothing, but he doesn't pull away. They stand like that for a while –Daisy knows he can't really feel her fingers over his knuckles as he should– until Coulson gives her a little knowing nod and she lets him go and sits back.

"So, is it good, your ice cream?"

"Pretty good."

"Can I try it?"

He makes the gesture to pass her the cone and then he seems reluctant for some reason.

"Don't tell me you're squeamish about this," Daisy teases. "Because back in the tactical van we exchanged fluids a lot more disgusting than this."

Coulson laughs. Honest-to-god laughter.

"Did you just laugh?" she asks, taking out her phone. "Wait, let me take a picture."

" _Daisy_ ," he protests and the voice is so full of fondness. Not that she thought that their quickie in the van was entirely about sex, but it's nice to be sure.

She puts her phone down and accepts the offer of the ice cream.

"The strawberry is very nice," she says, finishing the thing for him.

"Yes, it is," he says, staring out at her with a soft expression.

 

+

 

“I should probably let someone take a look at this,” he says, gesturing at his injured arm, when they arrive at the base and he starts walking towards the lab. She knows what a big thing that is for him and she makes no comment.

“I’ll finish up the mission report,” she tells him. “Then sleep for like ten hours straight.”

Coulson nods. He hesitates a moment before saying “Good night.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

They let each other go in easy agreement.

 

+

 

The next day she goes back to eating lunch in his office.

He's still grumpy and a bit sharp. Daisy didn't expect him to change from one day to the next one, just because they had sex. In all honesty she's not sure she _wants_ him to change. This Coulson – sadder, angry, a lot quieter, but in a weird way a lot less closed-off – is not the Coulson she first met, and he's not the Coulson she fell in love with, but he's the Coulson she loves now. She doesn’t want any other.

She has no idea what _he_ wants, though.

She tries to be light with him, give him every out in case what he wants doesn't line up with what she wants.

"Another salad?"

"But I got some nice lemon dressing today," he says.

"Adventurous."

Coulson gives her a tiny, hesitant look.

"I thought that maybe – maybe it's better eating things that actually taste like food."

He says it in a small voice as well, looking away from her.

 

+

 

It's the whole lemon dressing comment – the strange hopefulness of it – what makes Daisy go to his room that night.

She was going to put it off at least another day, to avoid crowding Coulson. He's very sensitive about pressure these days. But she feels strangely encouraged after the lunch and the fact that he let it slip that he was staying onsite tonight, and when it’s late enough - she knows he basically doesn’t sleep - she walks to his quarters and knocks on his door and doesn’t even occur to her that what she is doing might be brave.

"Are these your pajamas?" Coulson asks when he opens, sounding slightly amused.

Sexy, she knows. Her black top is pretty alluring but then there’s her pajama pants with fluffy clouds on them. Sexy.

"I thought we could have a sleepover," she tells him, closing the door behind her.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. 

He waits a moment, his eyes darting over her feet, before he grabs his top and tugs her against him. Daisy likes it that he kisses her first, now, sighing loudly against her mouth.

She thought this time it would all be slower than in the van, but it’s not, and in a moment Daisy finds herself on her back, on Coulson’s bed, pinned against the mattress by his weight.

“Nice pajamas,” he says, like it’s the only fucking joke he knows and Daisy tilts her head to press a benevolent smile against his lips, while Coulson works the laces of her pants undone.

He slips his hand under the fabric, pushing her underwear to one side and pushing one finger into her immediately. Daisy holds her breath for a moment out of surprise and a slight discomfort that becomes pleasure almost too easily. She’s not sure if Coulson is good at this or they are just good together. She holds onto his left hand as her body curls against his touch. He slips a second finger without warning again and Daisy has to bite down a moan. This is so much better than yesterday in the van. So much better than she ever imagined.

“More,” she tells him, bossy.

Coulson nods and pulls out, giving her thigh a squeeze before he sits back of the bed, undoing the buckle of his belt. Daisy half sits too, pulling his t-shirt over his head while, in a move that impresses even herself, she slips out of her bottoms and underwear. She stares at the bandage on his arm, much more professional than the one she dressed him in. She stares at the spot above it where she kissed him for the first time. She feels a bit guilty about not leaving him alone like she promised the first time they had lunch in his office.

“Okay?” he asks, once he’s managed to pull his jeans and boxers down, his voice an echo of hers yesterday in the van.

Daisy wraps one hand around his elbow and pulls him towards her. He rubs the tip of his cock along her arousal, slow on the way down, quicker upwards, pressing in circles against her clit, until Daisy feels like she can’t take it anymore, the pressure building too much. She digs her nails into the palm of Coulson’s hand and he stops the torture, leaning over her and pushing all the way finally, easily, Daisy feeling herself stretch even more than yesterday despite being more aroused, feeling like Coulson’s cock is a lot bigger.

“Fuck,” she says, laughing against his neck as she comes hard the first time he pulls out. “You don’t have to go on,” she keeps laughing, teasing him. “I’m done already.”

Coulson groans, slightly annoyed, and kisses her so hard she can feel the mattress give way under her.

“Okay, I guess you can go on, if you want,” she says, brushing her nose against his cheek.

“Thank you,” he returns the joke.

She wraps her legs around Coulson’s waist as he fucks her, and to to hell with quickies in stupid tiny vans, she’s too old for that, she likes this better, being in his room, his bed that smells like him, being able to arch her body against him while she runs her fingers through his short hair, watch the look of concentration on his face as he tries not to come too soon again.

 

+

 

They can’t sleep, still reeling from it, their breathing unable to get back to normal. They lie on their backs, shoulders touching, hips touching under the sheets, Daisy feeling the nice soft layer of hair of Coulson’s leg under her foot. She draws the back of her hand across his torso, his stomach, his chest. He catches it, pressing his fingertips against her knuckles.

"Lately I've felt like – like you are the only one who understands me," he tells her, looking at the ceiling.

Daisy presses a smile against his arm.

"No, I – I didn't like that feeling," he corrects her.

"Sorry."

She moves her hand from under his, dropping her fingers to his ribcage.

"Then I started liking it too much," Coulson admits next. "I kept wishing you'd come to me with mission talk, or that you'd stop by to have lunch in my office in silence, or that you'd actually asked to go on the field with me, like yesterday."

She turns on her side, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"You could have said something," she points out. Which he probably knows.

"I could have done a lot of things."

Daisy moves her hand to his neck and jaw, can’t seem to stop touching him, scraping her nails against the nice feel of his scruff.

“And now it’s too late?” she asks.

Coulson doesn’t lie. “For some things it is.”

She nods, because he’s right. There are wounds not even her love for him can touch. They are both haunted. But that’s not the end of the world, either. 

She uses her left arm to prop herself, grabbing him by the wrists and covering his body with hers. At least she can acknowledge good intentions, remind him that they don’t always get people killed. She’s still here. She’s not one of his ghosts.

"I know what you’ve done for me, what you’ve already tried to do for me. A lot of stuff you never told me about, because you didn't want me to get hurt. Some of that was really good things, and some not so much. But this?" she gestures between them, placing her hand over his heart. "I think this we should both have a choice in, not just you."

He says nothing, but his hand goes to her back, caressing her between her shoulders like it’s a gesture of understanding, moving up to massage the back of her neck.

“Keep doing that,” she tells him, toes curled in pleasure, lowering her mouth to his collarbone, making him squirm in exchange.

She keeps kissing his neck, moving her mouth upwards and nipping at the soft flesh of his earlobe.

“That’s nice,” Coulson says somewhat wistfully, like _nice_ is such a priceless luxury.

“You like that?” she asks, biting a bit harder.

He lets out a tiny high-pitched moan. “Yeah - I do like that.” Daisy starts sucking on the spot she had been biting and Coulson squirms, his hand tightening around her waist. “What do you like?” he asks, almost shy.

She smiles at the question, at the reciprocity of this.

“I like it when you touch my legs,” she says without thinking, remembering that moment in the van when the leather of his glove touched her bare knee.

He cups the curve of her ass.

“I said legs,” she teases.

Coulson presses a smirk against her mouth. “Can’t blame a guy…”

“Funny,” she laughs, even though it’s really not. He drops his hand and starts caressing the back of Daisy’s knee. “That’s very nice.”

“I like your legs, they’re beautiful.”

“Well, let me see,” Daisy says, sitting up and bending over to lay ghost kiss below his hipbone. “You have very nice legs yourself, Agent Coulson.”

When she comes up, still smiling, she notices the way Coulson’s gaze has suddenly changed, the way his touch has become lighter in a second, more hesitant. She feels his body shrink under her own touch, as if he’s suddenly ashamed.

“You must be really out of options, to be doing this with me,” Coulson tells her, and she knows he means to be self-deprecating but it comes out as just cruel.

There’s only one thing Daisy can say to that.

“I love you.” Coulson looks like he’s been slapped in the face. “But I guess you’d count that as me being out of options.”

She shrugs, which feels a lot more pathetic when you’re naked. Coulson sits with her, grabbing her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not good at…”

“ _Talking_? Yeah, you’re very bad,” she says, kissing his mouth. “I don’t mind silence for a while.”

He kisses her back, licking at the roof of her mouth, scooping her in his arms, trying desperately to make up for it. He was scraped raw months ago, now he has to push through contact pain to get to anything that’s good. Daisy lets him go on for a while, exploring her mouth, looping his arm around her middle to pull him closer, and she doesn’t mind the silence, for a while, anyway.

She doesn’t mind that they are clumsy and failing each other all the time, either.

“I don’t need this to be perfect,” she tells him, holding up on hand against his chest. “I just want to be with you. Same rules apply as in your office. You can tell me to leave. And I promise I won’t talk if you need your you-time.”

“No, _please_ , I - I like it when you talk to me.”

She smiles. That’s much more of a confession than she expected. Coulson narrows his eyes, shaking his head a bit, embarrassed.

“You like it when I talk to you?” she teases him. She never agreed with some people’s kid glove approach to the Coulson situation. She doesn’t accept there’s a Coulson situation at all.

“ _Okay_ ,” he frowns, admonishing.

She chuckles, sliding her mouth against the top of his shoulders, watching the bruises from yesterday slowly fade away in front of her eyes. She feels the weight of that responsibility, pushing him into that kind of mission, the weight of how careful Coulson has been (not fearful, just the opposite of reckless), she wonders if he resents her for this, if he will.

"I'm not going to tell you what you did wasn't wrong or that you didn't hurt people. And it’s not entirely your fault, but you're still hurting people,” she says. “I will always tell you when I think you're doing wrong. But I will always be gentle with you. I don’t know how to do it any other way. So if that's not what you want... If you want someone who resents you or wants to punish you – then I'm not your girl. I can't do that.”

She would do pretty much anything for the guy, just not that. Never that.

Coulson looks at her, tired, like he’s finally ready to lie down and sleep. With or without her, that’s the question.

“So you have to decide if you want me to go away," she tells him.

He touches the side of her head, stroking his fingertips against her sideburn.

"I _don't_ want you to go away," he tells Daisy. "And I'm scared that I've started to forget the risk in that."

"I'm sorry if that bothers you. It wasn’t my intention at all. You have to believe me."

But she had kissed him first, she had messed this up for him. She should take responsibility.

He is so quiet now that she can only hear his speeding heartbeat.

"I'm a coward, Daisy,” he tells her in the end, hands hopelessly open towards her. “But you're so brave... I just want to follow, be brave like you."

"You know what makes following me a lot easier?" she says.

"What?"

Daisy takes his right hand in hers lacing their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

"If you just hold on to me."

 

+

 

For the most part things don’t change. Coulson is still quiet and angry and subtly working on joining other people’s conversations, despite his lack of speed and habit; sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he fails. Director Mackenzie still uses Daisy as proxy to send him on uncomfortable missions. She can feel people still waiting for something, and she can’t tell them there’s nothing to wait for - he doesn’t suddenly become more talkative or patience, and he doesn’t shave every day. He’ll probably always be taciturn and bitter. And he won’t ever stop being haunted. Daisy can’t tell the others that this is fine, they have to realize for themselves. Maybe she’s being arrogant again, but she’s always been quicker than most. 

As for the other stuff - they don’t spend every night together, but it’s often enough. And they sometimes get hurt on missions, and sometimes it’s Coulson’s fault, and it’s never the end of the world.

Then one day about two weeks into it (Daisy hesitates to classify it as a _relationship_ just yet) they are eating in silence in his office like they usually do and she notices something different about Coulson’s meal as he takes it out.

“What is that thing?” she asks.

“A sandwich,” he replies. Some days it’s like pulling teeth, isn’t it, Daisy thinks fondly.

“I can see _that_ , thank you. What does it have?”

“Ham and breaded beef in a telera roll. And mozzarella. Jalapeños. And - uh - egg. And avocado. And…”

Her mouth starts to water as Coulson lists the ingredients.

“It looks amazing. When did you prepare it?”

“This morning, before work.”

She pulls her chair closer to him. In comparison her sad chicken salad sandwich looks the most unappealing thing ever.

“Can I get a bite?” she asks.

He hesitates, and Daisy fears she has overstepped some very important boundary. But then Coulson takes out another sandwich from his bag.

“Actually I made one for you,” he admits, genuine if a bit shy.

She takes the stupid sandwich in her hand, staring stunned at it and then smiling up at Coulson, forgetting all about not needing this to be perfect. It already is.


End file.
